


Charlie Bradbury and the Attractive Men In Plaid

by aggressiveenthusiasm



Series: Coffee Angels [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, pre-destiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:51:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aggressiveenthusiasm/pseuds/aggressiveenthusiasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the three days that had passed since the attractive men in plaid had first stepped into the café, chaos between the employees had erupted...</p>
<p>A continuation of the Coffee Angels series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charlie Bradbury and the Attractive Men In Plaid

In the three days that had passed since the attractive men in plaid had first stepped into the café, chaos between the employees had erupted: 

Gabriel insisted that the very tall embodiment of Jesus Christ (now known as Sam Winchester, thanks to Gabe’s ability to talk information out of people in a way so subtle the unsuspecting victim never sees it coming) was the whipped cream and the extra cherry on top of the sundae he called life (the nuts were an added fun time bonus). Lucifer objected, stating that Sam was in fact his soul-mate, he just had to convince the man of this, and he would die trying. 

Michael was beginning to have a serious thing for Sam's older brother, Dean, and his gruff voice and bowlegs (and bless Gabe for his useful skills of charm, and also Sam for being easy-going enough to share that they were, in fact, brothers because Michael had spent the entire first night wondering how in hell he was going to intercept their relationship.) However, instead of trying to win the heart of those big, green eyes, he spent most of his time stepping in between Lucifer and Gabriel whenever the Winchesters walked in. 

And Castiel, the only one diligent enough to keep doing his job when the infamous pair appeared, was at his wit’s end with his co-worker’s bickering and general incompetence (and maybe he also had a thing for Dean’s bowlegs and fantasizing about how they’d look wrapped around his waist, but fuck, he definitely could never tell anyone this.)

The situation had even escalated enough in those three days that their boss had noticed the tension during one of her evening visits. After getting the scoop from her reliable gossip source and roommate - Gabriel – she decided it was high time she observed the situation for herself.

Unfortunately, Charlie Bradbury was not used to getting up early. Being the owner of the small café, and someone who trusted her employees to keep things running fairly smoothly, she could afford sleeping in most days. She did most of her work from home, occasionally popping in to the shop to make sure Lucifer hadn’t burned it down, and Gabriel left some pastries for the paying customers. It worked for her. 

But when Gabriel had come home Monday night with tales of large, attractive men that left nearly all of her boys (and during the afternoon emergency pastry mishap - thanks to a certain person who will not be named - Anna) drooling over them, Charlie was feeling pretty intrigued. When Gabe mentioned Castiel spending the duration of the Winchester’s visit staring at Dean and Dean staring back, she put a little bit of thought into the idea of being there from open to close one day. Then, last night, when Gabriel had casually remembered to mention Castiel spilling coffee all over himself in the wake of a wink, Charlie found herself incredibly motivated to get up early the next morning and see this with her own eyes. Because, really, there was no way the ever-composed Castiel was staring at a customer or spilling anything, let alone in relation to some large customer dressed in plaid. Not her Castiel. Not quiet, reserved, uninterested Castiel with the high class douche-y British boyfriend. No. No way.

Still, as motivated as she may have been, it was just too damn early. She rose from her bed like a cheesy mummy from one of those black and white films, and stumbled through the hallway toward the bathroom. With robotic movements, she undressed and stepped into the shower. She didn’t really feel the ice-cold water when it hit her, nor the freezing wetness penetrating her long, ruby hair. 

After about fifteen minutes of standing beneath the shower head and not really doing much of anything but groaning like a zombie rising from the dead, she turned the water off and stepped out, finishing the rest of her routine in the similar fashion of not really doing it right or much at all; but at least she was doing something.

When she made her way into the kitchen she was disappointed to find that Gabriel had not left her some coffee like he normally would, and then she realized that Gabriel probably wasn’t even awake yet because it was the crack of dawn and what sane person wakes up at this ungodly hour? She glanced at the clock on the stove to see just what the ungodly hour happened to be, and groaned: 5:32 am. 

“Castiel stares at a man that isn’t Ballwasher or whatever his name is,” she mumbled to herself as a sort of affirmation. It seemed to help some as she ignored the coffee in favor of getting ready– the caffeine would have to wait until she got to the café. The “affirmations” continued throughout her morning plight.

She tripped over the coffee table en route to her shoes: “Giant men in plaid making employees swoon.”

She dropped her keys under the car: “Dean has green eyes and winked at Castiel.”

She ran into the glass door of the shop, forgetting that she had to unlock it first: “Cas spilled coffee.”

Then she used the wrong key three times, and the effectiveness of her “affirmations” had diminished. “Coffeee,” she whined as she pawed the door pathetically, staring in at the espresso machine like it was a beacon or some god, and she was beginning to lose hope that there was a legal way for her to get through the hateful glass wall and in toward the shimmering counter of life. She stared down at the keys in her hand only to realize she had forgotten the café keychain, and no matter how many times she went through this set, she would not be able to enter.

“Worst Thursday ever,” Charlie muttered to herself. She looked around the street, either searching for a familiar face or surveying the amount of humiliation she should be feeling, she couldn’t be sure. She was about to admit defeat and head back home when a familiar tan trench coat and mess of brown hair appeared from around the corner. The sunlight danced off his hair in a way that made it look like he wore a halo and his long, tan coat billowing in the wind looked kind of like wings, and Charlie was almost certain that Castiel really was the angel of Thursday.

“My hero!” she cried, pulling herself up from a defeated slumped position against the door, and grinning as widely as she could for someone who had not yet guzzled down enough caffeine to function. Castiel frowned.

“You never come in before noon,” he stated, his voice somewhat strained and slightly suspicious.

“Though I’d change things up a bit,” was Charlie’s meek attempt at deflecting the suspicion. She noticed he looked about exhausted as she felt and wondered if there was trouble in Bootlitter Paradise, and then wondered if she was already investing herself in the hypothetical eye-romance Castiel had going with Dean, but the thought was quickly replaced by anticipation because Castiel had just unlocked the door and made the idea of consuming copious quantities of caffeine a true possibility. 

He must have noticed the way her eyes were caressing the espresso machine with forlorn hope, because he made a beeline for the counter and got to work on brewing both a pot of the café’s house blend _and_ a pot of espresso. Thursday was looking up. Charlie sat down in the booth nearest to the counter, her back facing the door, and waited patiently for Castiel to finish.

**~**

Castiel was indeed some kind of angel, Charlie surmised, when he handed her the steaming cup and sat down in the seat across from her. She took a sip – the nutty, earthy tones danced on her tongue, mingling with a gentle hint of sweet cream, and in that moment Charlie Bradbury was absolutely certain that hiring James Castiel Novak was the best decision she had ever made in her entire life. And that was saying a lot, because if you asked her she made a lot of good choices. 

“You, Mr. Novak, are not a coffee angel,” she stated with quiet adamance. Castiel looked up from his cup with a slightly worried look on his face. “You are a coffee god.” 

His features relaxed into a small smile. “Thank you, Charlie,” he said sincerely. The two fell into a moment of companionable silence, each savoring their cups of coffee and lost in their own trail of thoughts. 

Charlie was thinking about the ridiculous amount of paperwork she had to do that day – she had the weekly inventory to read over, then she had to order the needed stock, then she’d have to make a new schedule for next week… When her brain registered “schedule” she then moved on to thinking about the current day’s schedule, and who would be working: Michael would be in to help Castiel open at seven; Anna would also arrive around seven with her little white pickup truck full of fresh pastries to sell. Lucifer would be in at 9, and Gabriel at noon. Cas was working a double, so he’d get off at noon and be back for four. It quickly became an entirely too tedious and unexciting trail of thought, so she tapered her thoughts into wondering just what these plaid Winchesters would be like. 

Castiel was thinking about the argument he’d had with Balthazar that morning, and wondering where the relationship was even going. Castiel quickly pushed that thought train away and then also let his mind wander to the Winchesters, but more specifically Dean Winchester’s green eyes and nice ass and those bowlegs and god, he hoped they showed up today.

Both Castiel and Charlie had moved on to formulating little Dean/Castiel fantasy scenarios when the bell above the front door chimed. They looked up to see Michael half-smirking at their glazed-over eyes.

“You two look about how I feel,” he chuckled, heading to the counter and pouring himself a cup of black coffee. He joined Charlie and Castiel in their booth and shared silence, none of them really wanting to do much else. It was only quarter after six, and since there wasn’t much to do in preparation of opening hour; they could all afford to let their minds meander a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be just two parts, I believe. I feel like it has taken me entirely too long to post this first part, but I swear on the life of my first born that I will have the rest of it up this weekend.
> 
> Also, I do not have a beta reader, so this is all going up unchecked by eyes other than my own. So I am so sorry if there are nonsensical bits or errors lurking about.
> 
> Also, thank you for reading!


End file.
